


Something Tragic in the Fallout

by Katraa



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Cuddling, Drinking, Fluff, I don't really know - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, Post Koujaku Good End, and self indulgent, just read the fic, meeting up at a bar, okay, this is so pointless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Mizuki had pretty eyes and even prettier skin and tattoos and Noiz has to wonder why Koujaku and not Mizuki. He assumes the guy's as straight as the old man pretended - claimed - to be.   </p><p>He makes a mental-note to google 'How do you know if you have a crush' in the morning before sleep claims him.</p><p>(established kouao, and budding mizunoiz )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Tragic in the Fallout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hereonourstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereonourstreet/gifts).



> THIS IS JUST MIZUNOIZ dedicated to the mizunoi queen herself.  
> AND KOUAO... AND I DONT KNOW.  
> i wrote this before bed.  
> it's so pointless.  
> but i just wanted to toss some mizunoiz into the mix.  
> GOODNIGHT.

"You've seriously never had an amaretto sour before? _Seriously_?"

There's nothing strange about it, Noiz thinks as he leans his chin even further into his palm. Soft, blonde lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks as his gaze settles on the eccentric bartender who is busily grabbing bottles from here and there. He returns to the counter in front of Noiz, slams down a glass full of ice, and starts pouring. In goes a liberal amount of what Noiz assumes is the "amaretto" and then in goes a scant, very sad amount of the "sour". It's a pretty color, Noiz admits, and it reminds him of his team and he wonders if this guy did it on purpose, but the thoughts disappear when the drink is pushed in front of him.

"It's on the house. I can't believe you've never had one."

Noiz rolls his eyes and pokes the cherry that is floating at the top of the drink. "I don't really drink," he says, flatly, poking the cherry. It falls to the bottom of the glass for a second before it floats back to the top, relentlessly. He thinks it's fitting. After all, _he's_ still here, right?

Here.

Here, after the fall of the tower, after that guy found refuge in that old man's arms (and Noiz _really doesn't want to know the details_ ). He supposes he should be 'happy' that the closest thing he's ever had to a friend is happy, but he can't really muster it up. Emotions are difficult, aren't his thing, and the best Noiz can manage is to show his face at the Black Needle to celebrate Aoba and that old man announcing their relationship "for real". 

Noiz doesn't think the announcement was necessary - it's pretty obvious they've been fucking for a good long week or two. Koujaku's neck is a mess and Aoba can barely walk straight. Sometimes he tortures himself with thoughts of _why not me_ but they quickly dissipate because relationships are sticky and prickly situations. Much like himself.

But here's one of Aoba's friends - and one of Koujaku's, too - and Noiz recognizes him as that guy that had been caught and brainwashed by Morphine. One of Noiz's guys had visited him in the hospital - apparently they had been friends before the whole Rhyme and Rib rivalry - and had reported to Noiz that "Dry Juice's leader is gonna be just fine!". Not like Noiz cared. Because, as before, he lacked enough will _to_ care.

But Mizuki had pretty eyes and even prettier skin and tattoos and Noiz has to wonder why Koujaku and not _Mizuki_.

He assumes the guy's as straight as the old man pretended - claimed - to be.

Noiz snorts aloud.

"What's so funny?" Mizuki asks, turning back to Noiz. He notices, then, that Noiz hasn't even sipped his drink and the corners of Mizuki's lips pull into a tight frown. "Hey. I made that for you. At least try it."

"Or what?" Noiz drawls, being extra bratty because he's getting bored and riling people up has always been his go to. It requires the least amount of thought. "I didn't ask for it."

"One sip."

"What do I get out of it?"

"Free booze?"

"…Tch." 

Noiz, reluctantly, lifts the cold glass to his lips. He can almost taste how sweet it smells - he nearly winces - but then he tips his head back and takes a long sip. The combination of sweet and the burn of the alcohol makes his nose wrinkle. The sensation is short-lived and Noiz imagines that this probably isn't that strong of a drink, based on how easily that sip went down.

"…Sweet," Noiz remarks and he goes in for a second sip.

"See? I told you you'd like it."

Mizuki is positively beaming, propping his elbows up on the counter. He's acting like they're friends and it confuses Noiz but he chooses not to remark on it. Instead, he watches as Mizuki's gaze wanders off to the rest of the shop. It's pretty obvious where his gaze affixes to by the vacant look in his eyes.

"They look pretty happy, huh?" he says, wistfully, and there's a sad smile on his face. Noiz only knows the expression from some distant, painful memories. "I'm glad that big loaf finally admitted his feelings, ya know? It must get tough keeping all of that to yourself."

Something inside of Noiz pangs at the words and he takes a third, longer sip and before he knows it, his drink is gone and he's staring at Mizuki expectantly, as if he's some sort of drink fairy who can sense when to fill someone's glass and with just one look, fill it. In reality, Mizuki takes longer to notice Noiz's stare, his empty glass, and his very obvious desire to have another.

"You're Noiz, right?" Mizuki asks as he takes the glass and goes about cooking up a second one. He's skilled with his hands, handling the bottles with dexterity, flipping them around with a twist of his wrist. Noiz is momentarily captivated. 

"Yeah."

"That's…German, right? Your accent sounds it, anyway. Sorry for assuming if you're not."

"I am."

"I moved here when I was young, too. We might be the only two."

Noiz nods, as if taking a moment or two to process the information. "…This is your shop, right?"

"Yup. Bought it from someone when I first got here. It's kinda been my pride and joy ever since." Mizuki rather sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck and that's definitely pride radiating from him. Noiz knows because he often has the same look, same sensation, when dealing with Ruff Rabbit. 

"It's okay. I guess."

"You guess." Mizuki is downright pouting and he shakes his head. "Wow. You're a hard one to impress."

"Tch. You could say that."

Mizuki laughs and he does something that looks nearly like a wink. "That's okay. I have all night, right?"

The way Mizuku jokes, bonds so care freely, makes Noiz stiffen. His fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his palms and he has the sudden urge to bolt from the bar, straight out of the Black Needle, and go get into a brawl. He feels suffocated and he doesn't like it and he just wants to forget about friends and about other people and especially about Aoba and his stupid little friends and stupid little amaretto sours.

"You know what? People can get their own drinks. This is a party." Mizuki laughs and it lights up the whole room and before Noiz knows it, the tattoo artist has hoisted himself up and over the bar and is now on the stool beside him, nursing a whisky-neat.

Noiz isn't sure when that happened.

But he goes with the flow.

* * *

Four or more drinks later, Noiz's vision is a bit blurry. His skin feels like fire, like needles or coals or lava, and he feels like he's sweating but it's awesome. Or, as awesome as he's willing to admit. It almost feels as good as Rhyme and Noiz struggles with that realization. So, he instead focuses on the dark-haired man beside him, who has been laughing at this old couple for the past five minutes. Mizuki's laugh is beautiful, Noiz thinks absently, and he watches as the man's long lashes get tangled up with one another when he throws his head back to guffaw. Noiz's stomach tightens and his knuckles turn white.

He listens to Mizuki talk about all the "good old times" with Koujaku and Aoba and Noiz momentarily feels pricks of jealousy, of wanting to _belong_ , but Mizuki skips away from that trip down melancholy road easily enough. He focuses, instead, on his interests, his hobbies, what makes him feel _alive_. Noiz likes how Mizuki calls it 'alive' and he can relate, can narrow in on that and just stare at Mizuki.

He imagines Mizuki isn't always his talkative, but a few drinks and a reason to celebrate can bring out the best in anyone. At least, that's what Noiz assumes.

"So your hair's natural?"

"Yeah."

"That's cool. It looks soft."

"That's gay."

Mizuki gaily smiles and Noiz has to look away again, the dryness to his expression and voice drying up like a desert. He bites down on his bottom lip, toys with his snakebites, and shifts awkwardly on the barstool. He feels off-center, off balance, and he subconsciously holds onto the counter for support. He hasn't felt like this in awhile and it's new and weird and he can't quite label what it is.

"You okay? Want another drink, Noiz?"

He likes the way this guy - Mizuki - says his name and he nods blindly.

He, strangely, wants to get to know him, wants to know more. Mizuki isn't like the others, isn't just some blind-idiot playing Rib, living on this island. Mizuki knows struggle and he knows pain and he isn't just some fake asshole who is smiling at him or just wants to mess around to get off. Mizuki is… different. And Noiz wants to scowl and dislike him but he can't.

So he throws back another drink and hopes he can convince himself to leave before things get too heavy, too close, too dangerous.

* * *

It's probably around midnight but neither of them seem to care. Nor does the rest of the shop, because Koujaku is heading over, stumbling and loud and drunk off his ass. He throws his arm around Mizuki's shoulders - and Noiz nearly decks the old man in the face but instead steels himself. There's a moment of laughter and Mizuki just beams at Koujaku and Aoba who is in tow, face flushed and hugging Ren tight to his body.

"You guys wanna play a drinkin' game now that Beni Shigure's gone?" Koujaku suggests and Noiz knows he isn't escaping this one.

He feels suffocated again, like he's drowning, as he's pulled over to some couches in the far corner of the Black Needle. He feels like water is filling his lungs and he imagines what pain must feel like as Mizuki gets them all a can of beer and sits down _too close_ next to him. He feels like he's capsized in an ocean with no luck of survival as Aoba leans over and pecks Koujaku on the lips and Noiz almost throws up on the spot.

Mizuki's knee hits his and Noiz wonders if it's an accident.

And he decides he hates beer, too, almost in the same second, as he takes a long sip just to occupy his mind and mouth.

"So, what game?" Aoba asks, perhaps a bit too excited, hands clasping together.

"Dunno," Mizuki says and taps his nose thoughtfully. Noiz can't help but stare, wondering how someone so strong and respected can _tap their nose like that_ , like an utter moron, and yet be so shamelessly cute. Like a rabbit…. "Fuck you pyramids?"

"What?" Koujaku looks downright offended but maybe that's the whiskey yammering on.

"It's some Western game. Uh," Mizuki begins and then explains the rules. Everyone seems to understand it well enough and soon Mizuki is laying out some cards and has a few shot glasses on the ready. He's taken the liberty of dragging a bottle of vodka over to the table and it looks like things are all set, all ready.

Noiz hasn't gotten anymore comfortable and as Mizuki does the final touches to the pyramid of cards, Aoba looks across the table and _smiles at him_ \- a smile that's like a thousand burning needles.

"I'm so happy you're actually still here, Noiz. It's really nice to see you."

Noiz scoffs, doesn't answer, and instead focuses on how long Mizuki's fingers are and how nice they'd be without those stupid, pesky gloves. He's not unaware of his own, stupid carnal desires and how hard it is to satisfy them given his condition, but he figures propositioning the one person who has been nice to him - besides Aoba - probably isn't a good idea.

"Go first, brat," Koujaku mumbles, pointing accusatorially at Noiz.

"Age before beauty," Noiz drawls back and Koujaku nearly throws a punch over the table, only held back by his giggling, drunk boyfriend.

"You two," Aoba mumbles and Mizuki kind of just cheekily exchanges looks with both Noiz and Koujaku. Unlike Aoba, he's entertained by the rivalry. As he should be.

The cards get flipped, the bottom row that is, and staring up at the four young men are a couple of face cards and a nine and a six. There's a dramatic pause, a moment of silence, and then Aoba decides to break the ice by turning his entire body to face Koujaku. He then raises his left hand, juts out his index finger, and thrusts it against his boyfriend's cheek.

"Fuck you, Koujaku."

Koujaku's face effectively turns the color of his kimono and he's a sputtering mess and he looks like he's about to have a nosebleed from the way he's clutching his nose. Mizuki starts laughing hysterically and leans into Noiz for support. Noiz doesn't hear what goes on after that, too busy eying the man beside him, _feeling_ the weight of another warm body against his own. A body that isn't using him, isn't trying to hurt him. 

The game goes on after that, now that Koujaku fully understands that saying "fuck you" is part of the rules and there is no actual sexual innuendo implied. It gets pretty vicious and everyone has had at least a shot and ten drinks by the time they reach the top of the pyramid. The final card.

Mizuki leans forward and with a hum that sounds like something from a gameshow, flips it over, maybe a bit too dramatically.

It's a King.

No one says anything for a solid five seconds, and it's almost as if no one has a King in their hand, before Noiz looks over to the beaming bartender and leans in dangerously close, breath hot and green eyes sharp and he says in a low voice meant only for the warm body beside him, "Fuck you, Mizuki."

The way he says his name, says _someone's_ name and not a nickname, chills the room and Aoba looks away out of secondhand embarrassment, Koujaku almost lunges across to beat the shit out of Noiz, and Mizuki? Mizuki turns a soft pink, blinks, and then _absently licks his bottom lip_ and it's the hottest thing in the world.

"Ok."

Noiz's sly look is replaced with candor as shock sets in. 'Ok'? No flustering, no shoving or punching or anything of the sort? _Okay_?

Mizuki had whispered it, and the fact that it was only meant for his ears hits him as Aoba and Koujaku start cleaning up the cards to play Kings.

Noiz opts out and goes to get some fresh air outside, allowing the party to rage on in the Black Needle, as the war inside him fought on just as loudly, just as lively.

* * *

When Noiz heads back into the Black Needle, Aoba and Koujaku are making out on the couch and everyone else has left. Mizuki is passed out on the other couch and he looks so uncomfortable and yet so angelic resting like that that Noiz finds it difficult to head over to wake him up. So, to postpone the inevitable, he stops by the lovebirds and hits both of them, _hard_ on the back of their heads and mutters dryly about getting a room (because that's what you're supposed to do to people right?) and he heads over to where Mizuki is passed out.

He isn't sure how it happens, but Mizuki wakes up right before Noiz is about to poke him. Sleepy, green eyes flutter open and their gazes lock and Noiz wonders if this is the moment all those cheesy writers dream about. Noiz blinks and then Mizuki blinks and he can smell the whiskey on Mizuki's breath and it's kind of a turn off.

Until Mizuki sits up, drowsily smiles, and rests his forehead against Noiz's.

Noiz is expecting a kiss, expecting a shove, expecting to be used or drunkenly taken advantage of, but all that happens is just a soft press against his forehead by another. All that happens is that Mizuki uses him for support for just this moment.

"…Oi. Are you okay?"

"Just gimme a second. Stomach not doing so well," Mizuki mumbles and, true to his word, he pulls back after another second or two have passed. Agonizingly slow, he makes an effort to stand up, stretching his limbs out as he does such. Somewhere along the way, Koujaku and Aoba have left, leaving the Black Needle in disarray and in the custody of two mostly drunk men. 

But that's fine.

"Sorry… you don't have to help me clean up. I'm just gonna leave it for the morning."

That's around the time a collared ferret comes running out from a back room and nearly trips Mizuki. The tired bartender manages a chuckle, lifts the AllMate up in his arms, and strokes the back of the creature. Noiz watches in amusement, in marvel, and says nothing.

"Oh, uh. This is Noiz." He holds out the ferret so it can, with its beady little eyes, take in the sight of the Rhymer.

"Thought you didn't have an AllMate, Ribster," Noiz taunts, arms crossing, and he feels a tinge of regret when the words slip out.

"Kinda hard to keep in touch with people nowadays without one. You know, with Coils," Mizuki explains, sets the ferret down, and then looks back to Noiz with a gentle smile.

It's so gentle, so fragile, and Noiz isn't sure _what to do_. He's never been in this situation and boy is he still tipsy and he assumes so is Mizuki, judging from the way he's been moving around the shop.

And Noiz isn't sure of a lot of things tonight but how they end up pressed up against the wall is probably the biggest mystery of the night.

Mizuki's lips are soft, warm, and well-traveled as they press against his. There's an attentiveness to Mizuki's kisses, a sort of focused energy that isn't all about getting off, that Noiz struggles to understand, but he knows it's there. Mizuki takes his time with the way he rubs his lips against Noiz's, with the way he angles his head just enough to deepen the kiss and keep it slow. Mizuki's hands are soft but strong, Noiz also notes, as they press against his forearms and keep him in place against his body. And he also notes that Mizuki is pretty damn fit, pretty damn trim and lean, and he bets that Mizuki could likely stand up against him in a fight. If it ever came to that.

Mizuki's tongue is a different story, and when they meet, there's a low noise of satisfaction that comes from deep in the back of the artist's throat. It's heavy and it's young and it sounds like something that's been trapped so long, desperate and eager and begging to be understood. Noiz wants to try to understand it - to be understood, too - but doesn't known where to start, doesn't know what language it's whispering in.

So he kisses back forcefully, bandaged hands lifting up to thread back in Mizuki's hair. It's natural, he realizes, because it isn't dry and stiff and like hair that's been dyed - he would know, he's tugged on enough hair during blow jobs.

Mizuki breaks the kiss and leads him upstairs. He trips three times - Noiz counts - but it's kind of cute.

When they get to Mizuki's little bachelor pad upstairs, complete with a desk, futon, laptop and television, Noiz wonders just how alike they are.

But such thoughts are banished when Mizuki nudges him towards the bed and presses soft, warm, inviting kisses along his throat and up near his ears and all his piercings.

"How many do you have?" Mizuki laughs, hands on Noiz's stomach, just roaming, just looking around.

"Wanna find out?" Noiz breathes back, brows quirking, as his hands tug insistently at Mizuki's tank top, trying to get it off. Apparently Mizuki doesn't get the hint because the clothes stay on and Mizuki keeps bathing him with searing hot attention and Noiz feels like he's falling.

"Is this okay?" Mizuki keeps asking and Noiz has to wonder if he's even asking _him_ anymore or if he's just trying to convince himself of the fact.

But eventually, they end up on the bed, still making out. Mizuki's lips are swollen, puffy at this point and Noiz is so eager, so horny, that he just wants to shove the other back down on the bed, pin his wrists above his head, and watch that pretty foreign face contort in pleasure when he comes from being fucked so damn hard.

But any advances, any attempts to get into his pants are blocked and instead combatted with warm touches and kisses.

A cuddler.

Mizuki is a fucking cuddler.

But that's okay, because as they're making out, becoming awfully friendly with each other's mouths, Noiz is able to convince Mizuki that grinding is okay. So they grind. Mizuki's hips gyrate slow, methodically, against Noiz's which are more erratic, more desperate, wanting more and more and just wanting to feel something. It's a bit messy but that's fine, because Noiz suspects both their lives up untill this point have been that way.

"It'd be easier if you stopped smacking my hand away from your dick," Noiz mumbles, breathless, as he pushes closer and tries to angle their hips so their erections can rub against each other, despite the many layers of clothes in the way. It's so damn frustrating and yet alluring all at once.

"Hah… Maybe… some other time." Mizuki smiles even as he chokes back noises of pleasure.

"Some… other time?" Noiz echoes, confused, but then moans as he feels _something_ shoot up his spine. It's weird.

"I… yeah? I'm… seeing you again, right?" Mizuki probably doesn't realize that pillow-talk comes after the sex. But they're drunk and that's okay, because Noiz clings onto him tightly, harder, and he grinds their hips as hard and fast as he can because no one has ever _wanted to see him again_.

Mizuki doesn't take that much to come, moaning lowly and definitely with Noiz's name on his lips. Noiz thinks it's beautiful and comes shortly after, panting into the artist's neck. He feels like he's floating and he isn't sure if the amaretto is to blame or the pretty guy on the futon with him.

But they lay there, basking in the afterglow, legs sore and stiff and numb. 

"I'll… clean the sheets, and my pants, tomorrow," Mizuki decides, yawning, as he throws an arm over Noiz and kind of just curls against him.

And that's definitely Mizuki's head coming to rest on Noiz's chest.

His heart beats out of control and he wants to run, wants to hide, but he can't. Even with his pants wet, his mouth dry, and an inevitable hangover looming in the near future, he can't much care. Even with the fact that Aoba is dating that old guy, even though his parents likely hate him and he'll never see his brother again, even though his team is falling apart day by day, leaving him, and even though he's never really had a place to belong before… it's fine.

It's fine.

Because no one has ever wanted to see him again, and no one has ever trusted him enough to rest their head on his chest like this.

He makes a mental-note to google 'How do you know if you have a crush' in the morning before sleep claims him.

The morning sounds like a good time to do all of that. Yeah.


End file.
